


if i ever feel better

by holmious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Instability, Flashbacks, Fluff & Angst, M/M, Mood Swings, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-19 05:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3598182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holmious/pseuds/holmious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel doesn't feel much like himself these days. Then again, did he ever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sometimes it feels as though it would have been so much fucking easier if he had opted to starve to death, or jump off a cliff, instead of being this terrible excuse of a writer.

He has developed this very drepressing, self-loathing mantra for times like this, one that sounds quite like his mother chanting terrible things at him as if speaking about the weather, like she was, apparently, so keen of.  
  
_Who told you that you can write? All you do is terrible! You're below average, you have no sense of creativity, there is nothing special about you, Castiel. You're talentless, a disgrace, you should be ashamed of yourself. That's why you are here, lonely, with nothing but a blank notebook to your name and an alcohol addiction. Your father would be ashamed,_ she says in his head.

 _Hold up, lady. That's all bullshit, Cas' awesome._ A part of his brain - the sane one - snaps sounding, ironically, like Dean. Which is, indeed, ironic because Dean is not here to stop Castiel's mind from pushing him off the edge of a precipice anymore. Dean will never be here and Castiel is the only one to blame.

He's staring, through the gaps of his fingers, at his not so inviting notebook with a blank mind hoping that he magically starts writing for about two hours now, knees to his chest and face to his palms.

He looks down at his medications, that are beside his half finished bottle of jack, on the floor, and his mind starts slow dancing with the thought of drugging himself to sleep, or, much better... _Whoa there, tiger, don't even go there or I swear to god._ Dean's voice - which Castiel became to associate with the rational part of his brain, a part that is often ignored by him, and that is currently rolling its eyes at Castiel - screams in his head again.

Castiel is not usually this self-deprecating, he has had his share of awfully bad mind blocks and more downs than ups, of course, but none of them made him feel quite like this. None of them made him think he should take his own life for not being capable of writing nothing but atrocities in almost two months. Or just take his own life, for that matter. Well, it hasn't been this bad since he got out of the clinic less than a year ago, anyway.

_Look at this self-pitying crap, all this drama... Jesus. Get a grip, or something, Novak. You were getting better, weren't you?_

Castiel sighs, still ignoring rationality, like the little stubborn imbecile that he is. _It's not all that shocking that you're having a breakdown now, is it? You had it coming. You had it coming and you knew it, why are you so surprised?_ His inner-mother says softly in his head, as if he doesn't have the real one to be worried about. Which, in fact, he doesn't.

He is going insane with all that cacophony in his brain. He needs a distraction, needs to get out of the house. Needs another brain, another point of view. Emotional stability. Perhaps, even a cat. He needs to shut his brain for a while, needs to drown himself in another one's mind. He has been by himself for so long that even his mind is getting tired of him, if all these hints are anything to go by. He thought that being alone would help. Clearly, he was mistaken. _As always_.

He needs a cup of coffee, though.

A cup of coffee is good, is safe. Who needs people, and writing, and a social life when there is this beautiful thing called coffee? _You need it, Cas._

 _Oh, shit, Dean._ He misses Dean. Socializing was so much easier when he was around, not to mention writing and thinking and everything. He shouldn't have moved to California, he should have stayed in Kansas. With Dean. Always with such stupid ideas, thinking that, if he ran away, people would suffer less. Thinking that people would be happier without his problematic and depressed ass, that they would be safer. Always thinking he needs to be alone. Away from everything and everyone. His logic, sometimes, is just so... what is the word? _Skeevy?_ At least, that is what Dean always used to say.

Castiel takes his hands off his face and lets them fall limply to his sides, turning his head to look at his phone on his bedside table. He stares at it for a minute or so, debating with himself whether he should call Dean, or he should forget about today and sleep until next week, or if it's going to rain and decides that calling Dean sounds like a great idea. Or a incredibly bad one. He picks up his phone, anyway, stares at it for minutes, mind restarting his debate all over again while he scrolls down his contacts list. A thought hits him when his therapist's number comes to view, he stops scrolling and sighs; he doesn't even know what he is going to say to Dean, it has been months since they have talked, and so much longer since they have seen each other. Everything that runs through his brain are terrible versions of the same phrase, _Hey, it's Cas, I'm feeling kind of lonely. I know it has been a while but... could you, please, distract me from my stupid mind before I kill myself?_

Well, it does not sound as good as it should, actually it sounds awful, simply dreadful, but he needs to take his mind out of this misery somehow, even if he doesn't say anything or say some idiotic nonsense, Dean's voice will probably calm him down. A little. Jesus, was he always this needy? - _He needs a drink_.

He dials Dean, with his heart in his throat and trembling hands.

 _"Yeah?"_ Comes Dean's voice, thick with sleep, after the sixth ring. - _Yes, he definitely needs a drink_.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel breathes, looking at the bottle on the floor but, instead of picking it up, he hugs his knees tightly to his chest with his free arm.

 _"Cas?"_ He hears sheets rustling swiftly. Dean sounds startled, which makes Castiel's heart a bit tight with guilt, almost uncomfortably so.

"Yes." Cas smiles a bit, sighing deeply.

 _"What's up?"_ Dean asks, sounding worried but can't seem to muffle a yawn in time, though, Castiel's smile grows a little with that.

"Did I wake you up?" His voice sounds tiny even for him.

" _Nah, I was up for like three seconds before you called_." Dean chuckles a bit nervously, _"What's wrong?"_

"I, uh... Not a thing." He rests his forehead on his knees, coughing a bit uncomfortably. He has always been such a bad liar.

" _Cas_."

Castiel sighs, "I can't write."

 _"What are your thinking right now? The usual stuff, or...?"_ Dean's voice sounds even more concerned. _Shit._

"I don't know, Dean, not the general things." He clears his throat, "It's bad, though. I'm feeling a little stressed out, I thought I'd feel better if I spoke to you."

" _And you do? Feel better, I mean._ "

"Slightly." He smiles a little, "I miss you, Dean."

" _I miss you, too, Cas. It's been kinda lonely without you, y'know. With Sammy in Stanford, and all._ "

"I wish I was there with you." He winces when the last word gets out of his mouth. He knows all of this is his fault. He wants to swallow his feet.

" _I know, Cas, I know..._ "

"Do you still blame me for running away?" He asks, running his fingers down his leg.

" _I'd never blamed you, Cas, not for one minute._ " He says, " _I wanted you to stay, though, but I'd never have pushed you to stay, even if I wanted to. Badly._ "

"I'm sorry, Dean. So sorry... I should have contacted you much sooner... I... I-" His voice breaks.

" _Hey, hey..._ " Dean whispers, soothingly, " _S'okay, Cas._ "

"No, it is not." Castiel can feel tears running down his face. He can be so pathetic sometimes. So pathetic...

" _No, Cas..._ " Dean says, " _Breathe, baby._ "

Castiel inhales deeply, he doesn't like pet names, he thinks they sound fabricated and terrible, Dean knows that but, oddly enough, the little endearment helps a little. He snuffles, exhaling out a little huff of watery laugh, "Do not call me that."

He can hear Dean smile through the phone, " _Always helps, Cas. You know that_."

Castiel smiles at that, wiping his eyes with his hoodie's sleeve, "I am very tired, Dean."

" _You should sleep._ "

"Not tired like that, I'm tired of feeling constantly isolated, I thought that fleeing would facilitate things. Apparently, I was mistaken." He laughs bitterly, "I want..."

"Cas." Dean interrupts.

"Dean?"

" _Before you say anything, I'd like to say that I, uh..._ " He clears his throat," _These past few months haven't been easy, with you gone and Sammy, too. I felt kinda lonely, y'know, and... I was mad, and got a bit drunk and fooled around a little-_ "

Castiel takes a deep breath, he knows it's not reasonable to be jealous or angry, he said he didn't want to hold Dean back but he needs to know if Dean gave up on him, "Are you-?"

 _"No, No! No, no. Christ, no, it's not like that, Cas... I'm not dating anyone_." Dean laughs a little, _"Let me finish, would ya?"_

Castiel stays silent.

Dean sighs," _I wanna get the hell outta dodge, Cas, pronto. I miss you something awful and I don't know if I can stay here without totally losing my shit anymore. I'm done being mad, y'know, and I wanna be with you, I know you said you didn't want to cause me any trouble, but you were never trouble, Cas._ " He clears his throat, he is going too heavy on the chick-flick, Castiel can tell, " _I love you, and you know it. So... if you'll have me, I'd like to move in with you._ "

"You- _what?_ " Castiel is happy, don't get him wrong, but Dean's bluntness took him slightly, pretty slightly by surprise, though, that's all. This whole conversation sounds a bit odd, it's not like them at all. Dean doesn't do chick-flick, he normally avoids it like the plague and Castiel is-- unsurprisingly, overthinking it.

" _I know it's kinda out of the blue, but..._ "

"No, Dean- I mean, yes, I would love to." He chuckles nervously, "But... are you certain?”

_“Dude, I'm bordering on chick-flick here, you seriously asking if I'm sure? I'll really kick your ass if you are.”_

“All right.” He snorts, cheeks a bit warm.

“What? Really?”

“Really, Dean, I feel like I'm going crazy without you. As cheesy as it sounds.”

Dean laughs, “ _Cas, you hear what I just said?_ Bordering on chick-flick _, it ain't get much cheesier than that, believe me._ ”

Castiel laughs, Dean sure knows how to ruin the mood, “So... you love me.”

“ _Oh, fuck you, Cas._ ” Dean snaps half-heartedly, making Castiel laugh harder, an oddly warm feeling of happiness running through his veins.

"Is that a proposition?"

" _So you do feel better, huh_." He teases, " _Always glad to help._ "

"Thank you, Dean, really."

" _You can thank me later, right now, I have a stretch of road to get to. I'll call you when I get there, 'kay?_ "

"Okay, Dean. I love you."

" _Love you too, babe._ "

Castiel groans, " _Dean_."

Dean chuckles, " _You love it._ "

Castiel rolls his eyes, smiling slightly despite himself, "Good morning, Dean."

" _Mornin', grumpy. Get some sleep_."

"Will do, mom."

" _Smartass._ " With that, Dean hangs up the call.

Castiel holds the phone tightly to his ear for a second, he feels giddy, better than he has ever felt for months and, as always, Dean had something to do with that. He should never have left him but - and quote - _shit happens_ , people do foolish things all the time, especially Castiel.

He gets out of his tangle of limbs and rolls to his side, smiling like a fourteen-year-old girl with her first crush. God, it feels insanely satisfying to be happy. As childish and foolish as the reason may be, he doesn't give a damn.

He puts his phone to his side and all his euphoric bliss dims a bit and, suddenly, he feels very tired. He closes his eyes after some minutes of staring at his medications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hey there, guys. I don't know what I'm doing, really. This came out of nowhere, I was listening to a song called "Sidewinder" by Catfish and the Bottlemen - you really should listen to it, it's fucking awesome, it's a little indieish or a lot... the indie level is on the ear of the beholder? (that was terrible, sorry) - and it just snapped or something. I really hope you enjoy it as much I do! Yay.  
> I'm riding this baby solo, so... if my grammar sucks or something, that's entirely on me. And I'm deeply sorry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my holy, I don't even know anymore. Anyhoo, welcome to My Mess, the Sequel, guys. I hope you enjoy it!  
> P.S.: (or whatever you kids call it these days - God, I'm so stupid, I'm deeply sorry, ignore me) I've been trying to improve on my masturbatory writing skills - Wait, that came out four kinds of wrong, sorry, but you get the picture, right? I really hope you do, 'cause I'm a little embarrassed right now... Heh. - so if it's kind of terrible, I'll make it up to you with sex scenes in the future. I really hope so.

When he wakes up for the first time, he looks at the alarm clock he keeps near him on the bedside table.  _3:14 P.M._ is what it says, glowing too brightly in his face. He groans.

Castiel doesn't have to wake up and go to work, he was fired a week ago so he just rolls to his side, stretches his arm until he touches a bottle with his fingers then picks it up and looks at it. Sleeping pills. He takes it.

Looking around his room, his fingers itch maddenly for a drink. He sighs, picking up his notebook, the blank page mocks him. He was hoping that the happy feeling of Dean coming back to him would have given him some inspiration, but he doesn't feel quite that happy anymore. He knows he cannot trust his mood. Not anymore, but it frustates him. It frustates him because he used to be confident, so sure of himself. He believed in himself and, now, he is this crappy vessel with these crappier coping mechanisms of a guy who used to have life in his eyes. Speaking of which, he needs a drink, needs it badly.

He stares at the ceiling, notebook resting on his stomach, waiting for the pill to kick in for what feels like ages until his eyes start to go heavy with sleep.

He goes back to sleep, his head pounding.

 

*******

 

The second time Castiel wakes up again is to his own gasps. Wakes up to a dream with Dean's flushed face hovering over Castiel's trembling body. Dean's hands all over him, teasing him, wrecking him. Dean's lust-blown pupils under heavy lids. That mouth getting closer and closer to Castiel's twitching cock. Everything feels too hot, almost suffocatingly so. He takes his hoodie off then tosses it on the floor, his shirt following it shortly after, and sighs.

“ _Jesus.”_  He gulps, looking up at the ceiling. 

After calming down slightly, he starts running one of his hands down his face, teasing his mouth open with his fingertips. He trails his other hand down his body until he touches the head of his leaking dick, he squeezes it and whimpers, biting down on his fingers.

_God._

He runs a finger down the underside of his erection, ever so slightly, swiping his thumb over the head and smearing precome down his length as breathy moans escape from his mouth. He breathes a little harder when he starts stroking himself slowly, painfully so. He groans when he picks up the pace, gripping his hair tightly and pulling it hard, back arching, mouth slack. When Castiel feels that familiar heat boiling way too close to his stomach, he increases the pressure around his leaking erection, thrusting fiercely the tight heat of his slightly closed fist, his breaths getting louder and louder until he stills. 

He comes all over his stomach and hand, head thrown back with a soundless cry to Dean's name.

He passes out.

 

*******

 

When Castiel wakes up again the third time, lying on his stomach, is to an uncomfortable and distasteful stickiness. He needs to take a shower. Right away. Or... he can sleep some more, nobody will know about this nasty little... endeavor. He closes his eyes, mind drowning in the sweet sound of a rumbling car. His eyes snap open, propping himself up on his elbows, he recognizes that purr of engine. 

_The Impala._

_"What the fuck?!"_ Castiel groans desperately, slumping his face down on his pillow, fists hitting his mattress like ones of a pissed toddler. He wants to sleep some more, but Dean is here and Castiel probably slept too much already.

He rolls to his back and stretches all his limbs in a very catlike way. Sits up, blinking sleepily. Looking down at his stomach, he lets out a little whine because  _damn him and his iniquity and Dean Winchester and he needs caffeine_ _._ He drags his sleepy ass out of bed, goes to the bathroom, cleans up his messy torso and changes into sweatpants and only that.

When he hears Dean kill the engine, his cellphone starts ringing, he blinks at it. His eyes go wide yet again, he jumps on his bed and takes the call.

 _"Hey, handsome."_ Dean says.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel yawns, rubbing one of his eyes.

_"You gonna open up for me or I'll have to pick the lock? 'Cause, y'know, I'm pretty good at that."_

Castiel lets out a small laugh, "I'm coming, just a minute." He rolls out of his bed, tossing his phone toward its general direction and winces when he hears the metalic sound of something hitting the floor. He shrughs, and runs to the front door.  _N-e-e-d-y._

He inhales sharply, counting to ten. Calming his nerves.  _Okay, enough with the chick-flick, Cas._ He can hear Dean say in his head, Castiel laughs.

He opens the door to a grinning Dean Winchester and if Castiel wasn't so tired, he would have squealed, or something. He really  _is_ turning into a fourteen-year-old girl. Good to know.

"Hello, sir." Dean salutes him then asks, "Do you have a moment to talk about Jesus Christ?" with a little glint of mischief playing in those gorgeous eyes that are currently running down Castiel's naked torso. Castiel poorly contains a smirk while rolling his eyes.

He barely lets Dean inside before jumping in his arms like a newlywed bride, and attacks Dean's mouth with his own eagerly. He hears something hit the ground and feels Dean's arms coming to hold him tightly by the waist.  _Calm down, Castiel, breathe._

"Easy there, baby." He kisses Castiel's lips softly one more time, chuckling while putting him down.

Castiel looks up at Dean with narrowed eyes and whacks him in the shoulder, letting out a exasperated sigh, "Baby, my ass."

A sly smile spreads over Dean's mouth, "Already?"

Castiel groans and walks inside the house, rolling his hips a little. He grins when he hears Dean let out a low whistle.

"Damn, it feels good to be home."

Castiel snorts, shaking his head in amusement, "Could you, please, close the door? I am going back to sleep."

When he is inside his room, he tosses himself on his bed, lying on his stomach. After some time there, staring at nothing, he starts to feel that hint of hopelessness growing in the pit of his insides once again.

_What if Dean dislikes living with me? What if he leaves? Like I did? I don't deserve any happiness, so why would Dean provide me that? I'm disposable, the scum of the earth, not worthy of a single act of kindness and love._

He is crying now, closing his eyes tightly. 

He ends up drowning himself in tears, sleep and self-pity.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gotta warn you guys, there's a dream/memory of a suicide attempt here that hurt me like hell to write so, if it'll trigger you, just skip the italics. sorry about this :(

_He remembers the weakness that he felt the moment the pills kicked in, remembers the taste of alcohol on his lips and tongue, the blood he saw dripping from his fingertips to the floor._

_Remembers the way he dropped the bottle of whatever he was drinking on the bathroom floor, remembers the way he fell to the ground when his knees gave in._

_“Cas? ” He could hear Dean's voice getting closer, but it didn't seem close enough, nor that he was right there with him at all. It seemed just like a dream. A distant voice, an echo of his own mind screaming brokenly within him._

_He could have died if Dean wasn't there the time he was. He could have died, and that would be totally on him because he is weak. He is weak and selfish. A mess, as his mother would say. He could have died and he wouldn't even have cared about the consequences. He just wanted a way out._

_He could see Dean's feet approaching him fuzzily through his half-closed lids but couldn't find it in him to feel embarrassed for doing what he did. He just wanted to stop suffering for nothing in particular._

_He remembers the glass digging into his arm, cutting it deeper, mixing blood with amber colored liquor but can't remember the feeling of it, the pain of it._

_He remembers broken glass splattered across the floor as well, and that's it. That's all._

_He remembers everything but the pain, he was numb back there, numb to his pain, numb to Dean's frantic voice, numb to the touch of Dean's hand, numb to the sound of Dean crying while talking to someone on the phone._

_He fell asleep full of numbness and woke up to white walls in a hospital bed, feeling heavy. Feeling everything, including the pain, and the warmth of Dean's hand on his._

  
  


***

  
  


He wakes up to green eyes staring worriedly at him, “Dean..." He croaks.

Dean frowns, “You're having nightmares, ain't you? You get that little frown when you have them. _”_

He feels Dean's hand running soothingly down his arm and huffs a trembeling breath. He closes his eyes and shakes his head.  Dean squeezes his arm gently, making Castiel open his eyes again, he sighs, “I, uh... I- _”_

“Shhh, s'okay." He says, looking directly into Castiel's eyes, “C'mere. _”_

Castiel comes closer to Dean's warmth, putting his arm around his waist and hiding his face on his chest, breaking eye contact, Dean tucks him in, arms tight against his back. He hums against the top of Castiel's head, then presses a kiss to his hair while running his fingers down his spine, making Castiel smile a little and kiss Dean's clothed chest in return, “God, I've missed you.”

Dean snorts, “Bet you've only missed me 'cause of my food and awesome body.” Castiel bites him for that, albeit not hard enough to hurt but to make Dean yelp and, when he does, Castiel laughs and soothes the area by kissing it twice.

 _Thank God for this man_ , he thinks, because, without him, Castiel would've been lost.

“You seem to be under the false impression that your body and cooking skills are enjoyable to me.” He deadpans, looking up at Dean with a little smirk dancing on his lips.

Dean's eyebrows furrow, “Ain't they?”

Castiel shrugs, “Truthfully, the only thing I missed was the constant fornication.”

“You tryin' to sweet-talk me, Cas?” He raises an eyebrow at him, sounding amused.

Castiel looks at him, trying to appear confused by furrowing his eyebrows, “I don't understand what you are saying, is that some sort of reference?”

Dean chuckles at that, shaking his head in amusement, “God, you're a fuckin' weirdo.”

“And yet, you still love me.”

“Says who?” Dean inquires, laughing when Castiel pouts mockingly at him. He kisses the top of Castiel's head, smiling against it.

Everything can be “ _fine and dandy_ _”_ , as Dean says.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://irenegaydler.co.vu/). Hell yeah.


End file.
